"Father's been bed-ridden these two years," said the woman, hastily, "he cannot crawl down stairs, and I cannot carry him." "You are safe now," said the stranger, in a re-assuring voice. "Follow us;" and he took the old man up in his powerful arms. "Why do you stay?" he said, turning at the door. "Could there be anything worth saving," thought he, "in this wretched hovel--anything but life?" The woman soon joined them, bearing in her arms, a small geranium-pot, and an old Bible. The stranger turned aside his head, and the old man wondered to see a tear in his fearless eye. Gently placing his burden on the ground, he returned to the house, and, leaning his shoulder against the door, forced its rusty hinges to give way, then, throwing the scanty mattress upon it, he lifted up the old man, and placed him securely on this hastily formed litter, which had been constructed before the woman had time to think of her deliverance. He then called to two or three able-bodied men, "For the love of mercy," cried he, "carry this poor man to Aston Manor, and tell the house-keeper to see to his comfort." "She'll never open the doors," growled the men in surprise. "I tell you she will," cried he, as quickly roused by opposition as a spoilt child, "take him along with you." Thus urged, the men took up the rude litter, and, attended by the woman bearing her cherished treasures in her arms, they made as much haste as could be, to the Manor House, leaving the burning village behind them. They needed neither moon nor stars to help them on their way, for the sky was red with light, and the hills around reflected back the fire--many times had they to rest, and often, as they did so, they turned their eyes back--where sometimes the attempts of the villagers would give a temporary check, or, the falling in of some roof, would damp the flame, and give a moment's hope, till, presently, it would again burst forth with wilder fury than before.